


The Scaffolding

by submissive-bangtan (sub_bts_smut)



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Awkward Conversations, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Designer!Reader, Jungkook Oneshot, Jungkook being a muscle bunny, Massaging, Mild Injury, Muscle Kink, Oneshot, Painter!Jungkook, Reader Insert, Sexual Tension, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, jungkook x reader - Freeform, soft jungkook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 00:31:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16650862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_bts_smut/pseuds/submissive-bangtan
Summary: Jungkook paints your house. He blocks the panoramic view. You take no issue with that.





	The Scaffolding

**Author's Note:**

> JK would be one hell of a painter.

September. The first week. The weather is stable since Thursday, a lot of tourists are in town. Your phone won’t stay silent either. Clients, clients, clients. There’s not a single unhurried day in your house. You tell yourself to stay focused.

Because nature still inspires best, the windows to the first floor home office enable you to glance across an ample panorama. A lake, mountains in the distance, meadows, some occasional mist in the mornings although the sun does come out later quite a lot.

A very rural outlook, mature. And yet, it’s been boring you as of lately. You need some aesthetic change in your life. But since you can’t roll your desk to the other side of the house — where the windows aren’t as large anyways — and can’t really move the mountains aside either, you dare an experiment. A designer thinks in counterintuitive terms. What if you change something about what you project outward to the landscape instead of altering the landscape itself? The idea is to hire someone who will paint your house in an interesting color.

The legal framework is loose enough for you to go with a very deep cobalt blue type of shade. Friendly and upbeat Kim Seokjin from the local painter’s bureau, Kim Constructions, invites you for discussing the details and going through color books. The resulting sum is quite hefty since your house is moderately large with rather complicated architecture to climb around, but everyone at the bureau is very helpful. September is the perfect time of the year. Seokjin arrives two days later to inspect the building from the outside, taking notes, then asks a few questions about the history of the house, looks around again, and vanishes as silently as he arrived. When you glance out of the window seven days after, there’s already a scaffolding in place. Deckings, ties, braces, and transoms everywhere. While you’re busy editing flyers for the upcoming winter festival, there’s plenty of hammering, van maneuvering, and more loud motion outside.

While you did want something new to quench the boredom, now you believe it backfired in the worst of ways since painting sure will take a while. Instead of feeling inspired, all you are is distracted. You do ponder moving your tablets, the laptops, the screen, and the other paraphernalia for the time being. But yet, another client rings through and asks whether you can meet the deadline for the wedding cards. You say yes, they’re almost done, you print them in two days, goodbye, you’ve asked for the fifth time. Moving the office won’t get rid of the nervous wreck type of callers either, no amount of reassurance ever helps. it’s starting to rub off on you, in fact. So you plug your headphones in and distract yourself from the distraction outside, and have a reason to ignore the phone blowing up every twenty minutes. Anything of importance would come via email anyways.

You drag fonts around the screen and adjust colors when a shadow steps in between you and the 11 AM sun outside. It startles you to the point of almost falling off your chair. It’s a brunette guy in a red tank top, bib, moderately tall, carrying a full bucket of paint toward the right side of the scaffolding. Judging by how he balances along the scene and then disappears, the guy didn’t notice you. The flyers aren’t so important anymore. You put down your headphones and try to glance across the room, toward the corner of the window where he went out of sight but not out of mind. And he does come back a minute later, without the bucket. This time, the guy gazes into your direction. He looks surprised. A feeble greeting hand, a bow, you bow back, then nod. Expressionless staring. He gestures around with a paint roller in his left hand. Then he moves on. You’re quite puzzled. He seems to be the worker, and you know that there are about three of them, that’s responsible for your side of the house where the office is.

It’s hard dragging fonts again, and the music stays off. Another anxious client’s call is quite convenient to make it look like you’re all professional and busy when the guy returns peeking across the scaffold on a ladder with a mixing laddle, and fumbling around with a trim guide. You don’t want to disturb the workers. At the same time, you want to look at him. The client, Mister Park, keeps on babbling about how he needs his fancy bright website banners by the end of the month, that his revenue depends on it, and only calms down once you send him a screenshot about how much you’re already advanced.

In the meantime, the brunette guy is gone again. Seokjin is on the scaffold now, but you can only see his arms stirring paint. The flyers are half done by the end of the hour, your tea cup is empty, and you figure it’s time to go to the kitchen to get yourself another drink. Hungry you are not yet, but already play with the thought of throwing some noodles in the Wok later for lunch at 1 PM, with some leftovers and a spicy sauce. Once the tea bag blurs out the hot water in your mug into a deep fruity strawberry red, you pace around the house, smartphone switched on, going through your social media. Nothing of real importance. A few likes on there, a comment here. More emails waiting. You end up strolling to the balcony —

And walk in on the guy, back turned to you. Pulling off his tank top standing on the first floor scaffold, and tossing it down to land on the hood of the Kim Constructions van. Your sharp exhale makes him flinch and turn around within the blink of an eye. His voice, high-pitched, cracks in a matter of seconds.

“I’m, I’m sorry! Thought you were workin’ on the other side!”

He covers his chest with both arms crossed before it.

Don’t look at his body. Don’t look at his body. He’s not comfortable with it.

You’re startled for a solid moment, too. Frozen.

“I, uh, made some tea,” you shove the mug toward his direction, eye to eye, desperate not to trail off below. “It’s very cold in September. I mean, out here.”

“Yes, it’s cold,” the guy says, pretty much sweating, but he takes the cup anyways, further disclosing his torso. You keep your head up stiff.

Don’t look at his body. Just a painter doing his job. Relax. You gave him a drink, that’s all.

“Really sorry, I hope the tea is okay.”

“Thank you, Miss Y/L/N, you didn’t have to do that. And I’m just a klutz, just walkin’ around like this. I hope I don’t cause an inconvenience. That’s too kind, you really didn’t have to prepare tea.”

You shake your head with too much vehemence for it to be normal. The guy starts sipping from the cup and almost burns his lips, but tries to play it off immediately by nodding at you more then necessary.

“I just saw you’re working hard, and Seokjin, I think, he can have a cup, too? There’s someone else, too, your co-workers—”

“Namjoon. But I think he’s allergic. Yeah. All sorts of allergies.”

“Oh, allergic. Sorry for that. And you are?”

“JK. Jungkook, um. Seokjin is always callin’ me JK. And Kookie, he thinks I look like one.”

“Yeah, I guess. I’m not allergic to cookies.”

“Me neither!”

Someone shouts from the other side of the house. Jungkook looks around.

“Uh, I gotta go. See you, Miss! I mean, if you want! I let that cup cool here, I pick it up in a minute.”

And he sprints around the corner. The scaffolding still vibrates after he’s gone and you hear a discussion from the East side of the house. You click the balcony door shut and sink down in the living room on the carpet. What on earth does he make you say. What on earth did he say. This JK guy. Allergic to kookies. Allergic to tea. What on earth. At least you managed to get a conversation together instead of awkward silence. So, Jungkook is his name. Seokjin thinks he looks like a cookie. But Jungkook is not allergic to that. And it’s icy cold in September, of course, especially when he walks around without his tank top. All that staring at screens has been making you dizzy.

You drink a glass of juice in the kitchen, grab your light-weight beige jacket, phone, tablet, and exit the house for a walk. Gladly, Kim Construction’s van parked at the other end of the house where Jungkook likely still climbs around. You can go to the lake and get moving, all day in a seat won’t do your body any good. Any important task you can do on your tablet anyways. And pass the time. You think about how bizarre it must have been for Jungkook to first get caught in the middle of stripping, being offered a teacup as a lousy excuse, almost burning his tongue, and having to hear about cold weather with the sun out.

Mister Park calls when you observe toddlers collecting stones at the beach, and the animals that make them wonder. He wants a certain color adjustment, the theme has changed, the mood has to be different. Even brighter, everything. The changes you can employ through your tablet, but not actually alter your very own mood until you get the idea to visit an ice cream parlor about two hours later. It’s their last day, they’re closing down until the end of May next year. For a reason easily explicable to you after thinking twice, you order a strawberry ice cream sundae. A big portion, with fruit, because the Wok— you postponed.

All because you thought your panorama was boring and wanted a blue house. Sitting at the dock seems to bring up more worries than that, just being completely thrown off balance, not having your shit together. Eating strawberries at least makes you a little more tolerable to yourself at least. You wish you could mute your phone to avoid further pestering by client XYZ asking for a new layout until Friday. But who could blame them. Their expectations were high, too. All you can do it type around on your tablet to get the wedding cards finalized with the right type of swirl in the golden frames. The children play and fool around against the raging will of their respective parents, but they don’t care. They keep on throwing stones into the water until they’re satisfied. The sundae is gone all too soon and you’re still hungry.

You take a picture of the orange, crimson sun lowering itself onto the horizon, the lighthouse from the harbor at the outer end, with sailing boats, and of course, the mountains. Maybe it’s a picture Jimin’s banners could look good with, you realize, and zoom in. You almost overlook it, but at a second glance, you see a familiar red shade on the harbor wall. HEX #ED2939, imperial red. You know that one from somewhere. Putting the tablet down, you gaze where you believe the color is supposed to be down the docks. Quite far away, near the lighthouse in fact, but you do see a silhouette. Now you decide to walk closer. That red is really striking, resembling the dusky sky. Coming closer, the silhouette turns and waves at you .

“Good to see you! Y/N! How’s it goin’?”

It’s Jungkook, looking a bit silly with paint on his cheeks, and a flat white box in his hands. It really is gigantic. He sits at the dock in black sweatpants, seemingly watching birds by himself.

“After-work hours?”

At first, you hesitate, but then crouch down on the harbor wall next to him, legs crossed. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand. You can smell that he reapplied whatever spray deodorant was likely available in the van.

“We finished the Northern side an hour ago or so. But, uh, you look more exhausted than any of us!”

“I don’t know. And good job, Seokjin didn’t lie about being fast.”

“Have a slice,” Jungkook opens the white box for you to peer into. Now you realize what it’s for. Pizza Funghi. “We ordered way too much. And Namjoon was havin’ an allergic reaction.”

Jungkook’s mindless nodding returns when you make a ‘really, can I?’ glance at the pizza.

“What reaction? He’s allergic to pizza?”

“Oh, I think I have to explain that,” Jungkook tugs at the hems of his tank top. “It’s some sort of insider joke. Namjoon’s on a diet since he ate and drank too much at the summer festival. Or fasting, we don’t get it. Whenever he sees foods and drinks he freaks out. Jin came up with that joke, don’t ask me why.”

In passing, he hands you a napkin for your lap.

“Wasn’t the summer festival exactly about food and drink? The slogan was culinary joys or something.”

The pizza is pretty crispy when you bite into it. Jungkook looks at you munch with big eyes.

“You got some memory right there. I don’t even remember whether I went there or not!”

“I designed the posters,” you mumble, “that’s what I’m busy with in the office.”

“Hey, that’s a cool job. Wish I did that. Been dreamin’ of some more artistic work.”

“Sure, we can swap. I climb on the ladders with a hammer, you take phone calls.”

“Not good at that. I’d just collapse. You likin’ the pizza? Take the rest if you want.”

Jungkook parts his bangs with a hand, getting the strands out of his eyes. His eyebrows are quite strong, unlike his soft eyes looking at you from their corners because Jungkook faces the lighthouse, letting his legs dangle off the dock’s edge.

“Topping’s nice and chewy,” you rub the corners of your mouth with the napkin and get another slice. “You enjoyed your tea?”

“Definitely warm now. Jin was lookin’ at me weird and asked where it’s from.”

“I’ll get you two some more tomorrow. Is peppermint okay? Running out of strawberry tea.”

“As long as we leave Namjoon alone with his water bottles and apples, you can do just about anythin’.”

The children’s laughter disappears. You finish the third slice when the sun is close to setting. Even the bustling people from the ice cream parlor disperse, and the staff cover the windows with curtains from the inside. Jungkook makes you laugh when, accompanied by funny faces, he reduces the giant pizza cardboard box to nothing but a ball of paper with bare hands, and tosses it right into a bin — ironically, the wrong one for plastic. After tucking it into the adjacent paper can, alongside the napkin, Jungkook balances on the dock and talks about Namjoon’s whimsical adventures on the festival where his shades flew off on a carousel until you suggest to go to the lighthouse.

“Want a good picture I can use for an edit. Maybe from the top. The lantern room has a railing all around. Probably a good view.”

Jungkook agrees quite heartily, but once you do reach the white tower, perhaps 45 feet high, any rattling at the door latch is futile.

“Closed,” Jungkook sighs. “For ages, I guess. It doesn’t look functional. I’ve never seen a keeper around here anyways.”

But you already point to the left-hand side of the lighthouse that faces the sea.

“Talk about ladders. Look at that.”

“Huh?”

“There’s nobody around.” You tuck your tablet into the inside chest pocket of your jacket.

Jungkook gazes around.

“Oh... I get what you mean. Anythin’ for a good shot,” he advances, testing out the metal steps planted to the outside of the lighthouse in regular gaps. “It’s not much different from a scaffoldin’, I think.”

“My very thoughts. Are the steps not rusty or slippery?”

“Not really, just a bit narrow, kinda antique. But it’ll do. For me it’s easy at least. But are graphic designers always that reckless?”

“My clients depend on it. We gotta be quick before it sets, I need the colors to be bright.”

Jungkook already climbs a few test steps up and down. It looks more than agile.

“Wait, I figure this out,” he fumbles around, relocates his balance back and forth. “Can you do this?”

“No, I ain’t stupid. If you can carry me, we’re faster, too.”

Jungkook takes the final step with a cough. You unwind your iron clasp around his hip and neck. He still smells like that deodorant. Even up here, where the wind carries all scent away fast. You both climb over the railing, the lantern room right before you.

“Hey, we’re not dead! That was awesome. Athletics 101!”

“Doin’ this every day,” Jungkook fastens his tank top, bashful now. “Gotta be good at least somethin’.”

You holding onto him caused the top to slip sidewards. It almost makes you forget to take the picture until he points at your jacket where the tablet is stored.

“Your turn, Miss.”

“Clouds look just right,” you nod, “was a good idea.”

Click. A quick shot for a start. Click. One with longer exposure time. Click. You turn the tablet by 90°. Click. Now diagonal. You crop the second last picture, then change a filter, add text, ponder for half a minute, then create a panoramic view. Jungkook watches with intent, picking at the paint on his cheeks without even noticing. You change positions three times to look for a better angle, without the railing in the way. Concentration. You hold the tablet still.

“Never knew how this works,” he ruffles his hair around a few feet to the right. “Looks like one hell of a job.”

You tuck away your tablet again, realizing that the brightness of the horizon already fades. The five pictures have to suffice.

“Hopefully. Only worried about getting down again.”

“I’ll figure this out.”

Jungkook, instead of going to the railing the way you expected it, walks to the lantern house. Indeed, hidden by white paint, there’s a door. He twists the knob at the very side twice, then frowns a little, changes directions, walks to the harbor side of the platform. You can hear a knocking, clattering, then a screeching noise.

“Come around if you’re finished! Found somethin’. Way down.”

His voice is a little silent given that the breeze is strong. But you do walk half the circular to reach him. He squats down at an open hatch in the floor.

“No ladder. But I think the room down there isn’t too steep.”

“Hey, you genius! What’s that?”

“The livin’ quarters. Sure we find a key there to exit the lighthouse from the inside. Don’t know how else.”

“But you really wanna get in there, like, fall? It does look steep! And how can I—”

Jungkook already rubs his palms against each other, bends his knees three times, then sits legs downward at the edge of the square opening.

“I think pizza makes people do reckless things in general,” he hums to himself, then glides off the hatch into the room. The rebound isn’t as loud as you thought. You gaze down the hatch to see Jungkook, already upright, pop and gyrate his knees, then stretch his arms toward you.

“O.K.,” he nods his head, bangs swiped to either side of his face.

“Just the same as you did?”

“Part your legs a bit. Don’t wanna get knocked out. Catch you halfway, arms forward. And don’t bite your tongue or somethin’. Other than that, hm. Guess that’s it.”

“Take this first,” you unzip your jacket, cast it off backwards, then let it hang down as far as the length of your right arm permits. The tablet weighs it down quite a lot. Jungkook plucks it out of the air like it’s nothing, rests it to his side, yet out of reach. He rubs his palms against each other again.

“Don’t think too much, Miss Y/N.”

“Oh man, poor pizza in my stomach,” you sit down at the edge now, leg to either side parted wide, arms forward. Jungkook stretches his hands further up toward the hatch opening.

“Think you’re good to go.”

“Get ready.”

And you slip down.

Jungkook’s exhale doesn’t reach the outside world. Instead, you’re the one to breathe out groaning. Holding on tight. With his torso between your legs, rock-hard.

“Oh gosh, hurts! Oh, fuck!”

A quick sting of pain. When you feel your hands at the back of his neck, finally, you gather your senses. Look down. He did catch you. He did. Jungkook keeps on muffling.

“You okay?”

You lean back to un-burry his face from your breasts.

“Boobs are a curse! Ouch, ugh.”

Jungkook lets you down, slowly. The inside of your thighs glide off his waist.

“Rest for a moment, Y/N. That takes a minute.”

“I quit my dream of climbing around.”

“You’re no athlete. I practice this all the time, too. There’s a bed over there.”

The pain still remains. Your eyes dart around the living quarters. The room is surprisingly spacious, perhaps because it’s rounded. The keeper left everything in perfect order. Equally, the bed looks like a promising comfort.

“Don’t beat yourself up, my face was just in the way,” Jungkook removes the bed’s duvet with its layer of dust on it, then sits at the edge, eagle eyes on how you lower yourself, then lay down on the mattress.

“Give me a second,” you groan into your sleeve. “Feel like passing out. Shit is like a groin kick.”

“If you distract yourself, it’s easier. Takes your mind off. Just tell me.”

Hesitation. But your mind shortcuts right away.

“Just— Come over. I need your hands.”

Jungkook swiftly gets his Timbs off. They tumble next to your jacket on the ground.

“What should I do,” he moves closer, kneeling next to your torso. You can feel his warmth.

“Here,” you point at your sternum. Jungkook takes his right to hover above the spot, palm facing downwards. His left hand is propped up beside your shoulder, creating a dent you sink down with.

“Put it— Like this?”

“Back and forth. Like, massaging or something.”

“Got it.”

He is very warm. And it helps. The sting, with every rub, eases. His palm is very broad, but light on your body. You can smell his deodorant again, but with a bit of sweat mixing in. Tinged bitter, but still sweet. You like it. Perhaps he wasn’t so wrong about distraction. Perhaps you were not so wrong about boredom. His touch takes away from the tightness in your chest the longer he circles his fingers into the spot between your breasts that gently part for his motions.

“Feels better, Kookie. Keep on.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook continues rubbing until the pain is wearing off, numbing, at least. The way he retreats his hand makes the bed shake a little because he shifts his weight, and the dent is gone. You’re looking at him now—

Something clinks on the floor. Strangely metallic. A noise more silent than you actually thought it was. You’re both startled. Looking around. Everything is blank.

“What was that? Is someone coming? Shit, shit!”

“Miss, wait a second.”

He peeks over the edge of the bed where the noise came from. You sit up. He’s chuckling. Then, he picks up a little silver item.

“Look at that.”

“Oh?”

He’s laughing.

“I think that’s the key. Keeper stored it under the mattress.”

“That was the shock of my life!”

“Your chest’s better, then,” Jungkook picks up the key and drops it on the dusty nightstand. “Gotta say, that was, uh, I was bein’ stupid. Namjoon knows how to catch paint buckets like that, he’s probably the only one lookin’ graceful.”

“To each their own talent. To each their own mishap. His shades flew off.”

You kick off your own trainers, adjust on the bed after removing the dust-covered pillow gently not to cause a stir in the air.

“We were searching for an hour or so,” Jungkook scratches his head. “It flew far, you know.”

“He seriously needs to read the safety instructions next time.”

“We climbed on a lighthouse, can’t preach to him ‘bout that I think. Pics will be pretty cool though.”

“I’ve had my climbing, you had some art stuff today.”

“Always learnin’ somethin’.”

The duvet is back in place, as is the pillow, the hatch closed with the makeshift help of a broomstick. You tap down the stairwell that smells a lot like sea, jacket back on, with the light from your tablet illuminating the way down. Jungkook, in his Timbs, is ready to dodge bats or spiders, but the staircase isn’t too webby and dusty. Only the stairs are a bit grimy.

“Need the biggest shower of my life,” he grits, balancing downwards.

“I can drive you home if you want. How did you get to my house earlier?”

“By bike, it’s parked at the harbor. My house isn’t too far away. Gettin’ there in ten minutes.”

“Ah, okay.”

After you get to the bottom of the tower, the key turns in the lock with less ease than you thought. Instead, you turn the knob and the door pops open with a creak.

“Opens from the inside only,” Jungkook huffs out a laugh. “I’ll get the key back to where it was.”

You hand him the tablet faithfully, and in the matter of a minute, he’s back to hand it to you. The bike in question is indeed not very far. As red as his tank top, chained before the beautiful mountain scenery. There’s fog coming up already.

“Don’t have any tea available I’m afraid.”

“Will get warm when I’m pedallin’,” he removes the lock from the bike with a number code, then puts on the helmet attached to it. “See you tomorrow, Miss Y/N. I try not to walk past your office too often.”

“Oh, my clients will be more than satisfied, I’ll have more time to lean back. Got a lot of work done today. If you want, I cook something in the Wok for everyone at lunch. Tit for tat. I liked your pizza, Kookie.”

“Tit for tat?”

“You don’t know that expression? It’s not because of my boobs. They’re fine now.”

“Ah— uh, sorry for that again.”

“Tit for tat just means, ah, compensation. Back and forth. I’ll treat you to something, hm.”

“Sure it’s gonna be delicious.”

“We’ll help Namjoon get over his allergy as well. I’m confident.”

Jungkook’s eye smile appears under the brim of his helmet. You ask whether you can take a picture with your phone before he leaves. Oh sure, Miss, he says, adjusts the tank top. You zoom in a bit, center his face. There’s still a bit of blue paint on his nose. Click!


End file.
